Author's infos

Introduction:

Please read part one

How do you get mad at the thing you are, when the thing you are is the judge. I sat for days in the apartment feeling used, manipulated. I wanted to hate what had happened to me, but it was hard. Everything inside me said it was right. The transition had almost taken place overnight, but there was still that thing within me that told me this was not who I was. The small things reminded me. I woke up and didn’t put a shirt on, and was immediately reminded I was a woman because of the weight of my chest. Indeed almost always my chest was the reminder. I never wore a bra around the house specifically because it reminded me, and because of it, the sway and movement always served as a little voice in my head. I would bang the corner of the wall with them, tip over glasses, bend over and they come and hit me square in the face.

On the other hand, as much as they were the reminder that I wasn’t a man, they also were the source of my growing pride. For a day or two I wouldn’t look in the mirror, but then I just faced myself. My tits were fantastic. They were firm and so round. Standing in front of the mirror they barely sagged at all, and with just a little cold air or slight manipulation of my clit they protruded and hardened wonderfully. I loved they way they felt in my hands, and it was hard to get over how small my waste was and how wide my hips were. The curves were intoxicating, and then there was my ass. I felt it every time I sat down. I was always aware of the padding, Other than my tits, the feel of my ass as it started at my lower back, protruding nicely, was my favorite part of my body.

And that’s how it happened. After a week in my self imposed jail, I came to grips with who I was, not just how I looked, but more importantly a woman that enjoyed, no needed, to be a woman. I noticed how different it was the first time I went out. Suddenly my entrapment became a burden I had to rid myself of. My choice was the mall, and my goal was clear. I would test myself as a woman. My logic was this: I had sucked dick and been fucked, but didn’t mean I was a woman, just that I enjoyed the sex. I had yet to be attracted to a man, and that’s what I wanted to test.

I put on a bra for the first time in a week, having fewer problems than I thought, panties and a skirt and two tank tops. I got to the mall, ate a really bad chicken sandwich and sat down on a bench and started studying people. First I only looked at women. Most of them women were young, but I noticed that when I looked at them I looked at their entire body. I sized them up not by their chest or their butt, but their overall appearance. When it came to the men, it was drastically different. I looked at their ass, their crotch, I wondered what they looked like with their shirts off. I came back to their crotch and wondered how big their dicks were. I started studying faces to see which guys I found attractive.

Then I noticed, that I wasn’t just studying; I was turned on. I wasn’t just turned on, I was wet. I started undressing guys with my eyes, wondering what it would be like to fuck them right there on that bench. When a group of three guys came by, and I started wondering what it would be like for all of them to fuck me, I knew it was time to leave. I was coming to grips with who I was and that I liked men, but it was clear I was not ready to deal with getting gang banged.

I walked back through the department store, but couldn’t remember which door I came in. I walked toward the lady’s department, but that didn’t look right, so I circled around and found that I was in the middle of the men’s department. I saw the door I came in (suddenly remembered it was by the men shoes), but as I made my way to the door, I was interrupted by a voice.

“Can I help you find something miss?”

I looked a the voice, and before me stood a 20 something Swedish looking guy, skinny, in a vest and dress pants. His hair was gelled into a tight point. Although skinny, you could tell by his shoulders that he was in good shape.

“Is there something in particular that your looking for?”

His head was turning to try and catch my gaze, the gaze that was me searching for something to say. I had never been this uncomfortable or this at a loss for words.

“Is it something for you or a boyfriend?”

I chimed right up. “No, no boyfriend. Its for me, I’m sorry. Its for me.”

“Oh. Well don’t be embarrassed. If you tell me basically what it is, I can take you to were you need to be.”

“I need bras and panties.” I looked him in the eye for the first time. He smiled, and I caught his eyes move up and down my body. When he turned and walked away, I knew I was suppose to follow him. We got the point where the bra racks were clearly evident, but he didn’t stop. He walked me to the middle of on of the rows, and finally spoke.

“We’re surrounded by bras. Take your pick. Do you need anymore help?

I so didn’t want him to leave, but he had to be as uncomfortable as I was in front of him, at least I had something to put in the bras.

“Is there someone over here that can help me?”

He looked over the rack toward the sales desk, and then told me that, “there doesn’t appear to be anyone over here. I hate to say it this way, but is there something I can help you get or do you need a female employee?”

“Well I just need my size and someone’s opinion.”

“Oh.” He looked disappointed.

“I mean would that make you feel too uncomfortable?”

“Your ok with me helping you?”

“Sure, I mean you’ve seen tits before right? Their just boobs.”

“Well I don’t know how much help I’ll be, but I surely will help you as much as I can. Ok, so what size are you? What kinda style?”

I knew I was a 36ddd or a 36e, but I was enjoying how uncomfortable he looked and how much talking about my boobs with him was turning me on.

“How bout you guess and get what you think is the sexiest.”

“Are you serious? I’m going to get this all wrong.”

“Its fine. You pick two you like, and I’ll pick two that I like and we can compare. It will be fun.”

“We?”

“Yeah, wasn’t there a dressing room back over in mens?” This time it was his turn to follow. When we got to the dressing room hallway, I turned to see him carrying the two bras, one in each hand. “do I need a key?”

He walked in front of me and opened the last door in the hallway. He entered and hung the bras on the hook and then went to leave, but I was standing in the doorway.

“I need you to stay and tell me how they look.”

“I can’t stay in here while you change. I’d get fired.” He was more scared than he was angry.

“Sure you can, no one is around, and this store is absolutely dead.”

He didn’t say anything. He just sat down on the bench and looked at me, almost daring me. I straightened myself up and moved away from the door, not that there was much room. I lifted my tank tops off and stood in front of him in only my bra and skirt.

“This is the way the bra should fit.” I made sure to rub my fingers around the lace, under the underwire meeting in the middle and repeating what the woman in victoria secret told me about the joining of the underwire needing to be firmly against my skin to be a good fit. His eyes never left my now hard nipples.

I reached back and undid my bra and pulled it off my arms, dropping it to the floor so he could see my full breasts naked. “Now hand me your bras.”

He paused for a minute, and reached over to the hook without moving his eyes. At that moment I loved the power of my tits. I looked at the first one and it was way too small. The band was only a 34 and the cup only a C. I know it would almost be painful, so I grabbed the other. It was red, a 36 band, but only a D cup. It would work, but still be somewhat preposterous. I pulled my arms through and then hooked it in the back. It was a bit awkward, rather than hooking it and turning it around, but I thought this would be sexier.

When I got it in place, my boobs overflowed the bra. “Well you didn’t pick very well.” I laughed.

“No I picked very well.”

“Silly. This doesn’t fit.” I was flirting so hard now I was even laughing at myself. “My boobs are overflowing.”

“They look amazing.”

I moved closer to him, only a few inches from his face, “See how my boobs just come right out and how the underwire is way out here?”

I wasn’t prepared for what happened. He reached out and rubbed his fingers around the part of my breasts that overflowed the bra, and his touch sent electricity down my body. What happened next was a shock to us both and happened too fast for us to stop it. Before I knew it I was on my knees and had his semi hard cock in my mouth. I tore at his pants to get them off and even while I was sucking him, his cock growing in my mouth, I was getting his legs out of his pants. By the time I had him bare from the waste down, I had him rock hard.

His eyes were closed and his head was resting against the wall. I pulled off my underwear while I sucked, and then quickly, stood, turned around and lowered myself onto his cock. He wasn’t large, but I could definitely feel him, and with all the force I could muster, I slammed down on his cock as hard as I could. When my legs got tired, I sat on him completely and moved around in circles. This seemed to be when he made the most noise, but I wanted the force.

I felt him tap on my ass and mutter something about him getting ready to cum, but there was no way I was stopping. I could feel the orgasm building, and it would have taken a fire, a really close fire, to get me off him. I felt him tense and then I felt him explode in me. He moaned each time he released, and finally, after I could feel myself soaked with his cum, I came, or more accurately, I screamed.

Once back in my apartment, I was more than happy. I had done the deed, not the physical deed, but the mental hurdle of acting, desiring, and orgasming as a woman. The sensation of being in control, of having people want me, was intoxicating. I took a shower and tried to clean myself as best I could. I dried myself and laid down on the bed, and without knowing it, I fell fast asleep.

When I woke, the sun was coming through the slits in the blinds. It cast odd shadows on the wall, lines that covered the entire length of the room, and crossed my naked body on top of the sheets. I examined myself in the half-light, peering over the curves of my hips, the soft rise of my thighs, the bend in my leg that led to my pubic area, my flat stomach with a hint of definition, the slight sag of my breasts that caused them to fall slightly to the side with their mass, the large brownish areolas that held my hardening nipples in the morning cold, and the small arms that framed the entire picture. I was beautiful, and I was a woman.

I had nothing to do with my days until school started. It was a recipe for disaster. That morning, I had a new found energy. I ate breakfast and actually felt like working out, but didn’t know how to actually go about it. I felt like running, but I knew that was a problem, so I made a plan for the day. More shopping. I went to Dick’s sporting goods and found a sports bra that kinda fit. It was way too tight, but actually held my tits in place. I also bought some work out pants and tank tops, running shoes, a swimming suit, and because I thought it was super cute, a bikini (it barely covered my tits, but I thought what the hell, the occasion might arise). From there I went straight to a gym I heard about when I asked at Dicks. It was actually just down from my place, across from the University. I signed all the proper documents (the first time I had actually try to pass as the new me) and got my first real picture ID. I also got my first real deal, in that they gave women a half price discount to join for the first year (I’m sure to attract more male members).

I went to the women’s locker room (yes I had to think for a second) and changed. It was very different than in the changing room at Dick’s. First, in the changing room everything fit, but I hadn’t thought about how it would look to other people. I put on black spandex Capri work out pants that were super tight, and the tank top, although it fit, was pretty tight against my chest. It stretched so I had good range of motion, but it didn’t leave too much to the imagination. My chest, though, was very tight. For the first time since I had my boobs, the weight was somewhat taken off me but the pressure on my chest was greater. I put on my shoes, and with some reservations, I walked out into the gym. It was early in the day, so there weren’t that many people there, but enough, and I could feel all their eyes on me. Most of them were older men, some women too, which kinda shocked me, but the section of the room that was designated for free weights had a group of younger men that were clearly taking a long break right about the time I walked past.

I got on one of the treadmills and started to walk at a slow pace. I was unsure how my new body would react. I knew that larger breasted women had a hard time with running, but the biggest actual adjustment was the way I walked. My hips forced my gate out further, in a much different manner than I had ever experienced. I had been a woman for a bit now, but never walked at such a rapid pace. After a few minutes, the sweat was starting to run, but I wanted more. I was alive. I pushed the speed up so I had to go into a light jog, and although I could definitely feel my chest moving, it wasn’t pain as much as a supreme awareness that I had two weights on my chest. I had a good pace going, and was happy, when I noticed that I now had company. Above my head and in front of me were a line of televisions for those on the treadmills. On the other side were another line of televisions the people on the stationary bikes could see. The other thing they could see were the people not five feet from them on the treadmills.

As I found my pace in my jog, three of the guys that were lifting weights sat on the three bikes directly in front of me. They rode in silence, starring directly at me rather than the televisions, without the least bit shame and without trying to hide it a bit. I knew they were watching, but I tried to ignore them. It was annoying and a huge turn on at the same time. After thirty minutes, I was beat, and I couldn’t appear half way decent without stopping. I was dripping wet, but felt amazing, alive.

I looked at them one at a time, and then back at the apparent ringleader, “hope you had a good time.” I smiled and walked back toward the women’s locker room. I gathered my things and went to leave. I was half way to the door, when the ringleader came over to me.

“Hey, how bout I get your number and we can go out later tonight?”

I looked at him, first at shock, and then in a completely relaxed manner that shocked me. “Why would I want to do that?”

“We can have a good time.”

“And what about your friends?”

“They’ll be fine.”

And then I don’t know where this came from. “How bout this. How about you and your friends come over about eight? 524 Fallon Street, Apartment 2.”

With that I turned and walked out the door. No comment. No looking back. I was shocked at what I had just done and excited at the same time. When I got home, I jumped in the shower, proud of myself for both working out and how I had dealt with him, but as the soap ran over my breasts, I became acutely aware of what I had done. I had set up a gang bang. What if he actually showed up? What if he showed up with ten guys? How in the hell could I deal with that? Could I actually go through with it? Should I stick around and actually be here at eight?